‘Hello, Lacey,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long time.’
The world seemed to stand still for a second. It was over then. I watched the beam of Mark’s torch flashing around the cavern. Then it fixed on a point on the opposite gallery, maybe eighty feet from where we were standing.
‘I thought you’d never get here,’ said the voice again, cutting through the darkness, a second before Mark’s torch found her. In its beam we saw a slender woman in her mid twenties, with the sweetest face I think I’ve ever seen. Her hair was chin length and bright blonde; the black crop we’d heard so much about had clearly been a wig. Those eyes would be blue once I got close enough to look at them properly, with tiny flecks of hazel brown. I knew that face almost as well as I knew my own.
At my side, I heard Mark make a soft hissing sound, as he sucked air in through his teeth. ‘Is that her?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ I said, without taking my eyes off her. ‘That’s Llewellyn.’
‘I’ve met her before,’ he breathed. ‘She’s Geraldine Jones’s au pair. Stenning actually took her out for a drink.’
She was looking at me now, just me. ‘Raindrops and roses,’ she sang. ‘Do you remember, Lacey? That game we used to play?’ Then that sweet face broke into a smile. She looked completely relaxed, maybe a little surprised, as though we were two old friends who’d met by chance at a party. Her arms hung loosely by her sides. In her left hand she held something I couldn’t quite make out, except it seemed to have a black headband. In her right hand was a small handgun.
‘Let these two go,’ I called across the vaults to her. ‘We don’t need them any more. It’s about us now.’
Her eyes went from me to the man at my side. She seemed to be thinking about what to say next. I risked taking my eyes away from her.
‘Mark, take Joanna and get out of here,’ I said to him. ‘She’ll let you go.’ I looked back at Llewellyn. ‘You will, won’t you?’ I asked her. ‘Please, just let them go.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ said Joesbury.
‘I need you both to step to the front of the gallery and drop your torches down into the water,’ said Llewellyn.
When neither Joesbury nor I moved, Llewellyn’s face screwed up like that of a thwarted child. ‘You have three seconds to lose those torches before I shoot your boyfriend,’ she said to me.
‘Do it,’ I said, stepping forward and raising my arm.
Joesbury caught hold of my shoulder. ‘Oh, I think you’ve played enough games with those replica weapons of yours,’ he called across to her. ‘And don’t imagine I came here alone. There are armed police at every exit, just waiting for my signal to come in.’
Joesbury was so full of shit.
‘Mark,’ I said, ‘I really don’t think that’s a—’
‘Then we’re running out of time,’ said Llewellyn. ‘Drop the torches now.’
‘Mark, please just do—’
‘Without light, we’ll be sitting ducks,’ he whispered into my ear.
‘I know this place better than she does,’ I replied quietly. ‘I can get us out in the dark. The minute she switches on a light, we’ll know where she is. Now drop your torch, take hold of me and then back up to the wall.’
He muttered something that I took as agreement, then first my torch, then his, went over the edge of the gallery. A second later we heard them splashing into water and then all light disappeared from the world. Joesbury’s hand was on my shoulder. We backed away from the gallery’s edge and I heard him speak softly to Joanna. A few more steps and we were up against the wall. I reached out and found Joanna’s hand.
‘Move slowly and stay together,’ I said.
‘Wait,’ insisted Joanna. ‘She can see in the dark. She has some sort of night-vision equipment. She can still see us.’
A hand was on the back of my neck, pushing my head down. ‘Stay low and move fast.’ Joesbury’s mouth brushed against my ear. ‘Go now.’
I didn’t need telling twice. Bent almost double, one hand keeping contact with the brick wall on my left, the other holding fast to Joanna, I moved as fast as I dared. From the gallery she’d been standing on, Llewellyn couldn’t access the horse tunnel. She’d have to head north along the length of the gallery, make her way across the width of the building and into the boiler room where I’d found Joanna. Only then could she follow us down this, the more easterly of the two galleries. If Joanna was right and Llewellyn could see in the dark, she’d be able to move a lot faster than we could. On the other hand, we had a head start.
It was impossible to move at that speed and stay quiet, so we didn’t. Three sets of footsteps thumped along the wooden slats, making it impossible to hear if anyone was gaining on us. Somehow, I made myself keep moving when there was nothing but blackness ahead of me. At the end of the gallery I stopped to get my breath back.
‘Get moving,’ came Joesbury’s voice out of the darkness. Upright again, I turned into the tunnel. Ten feet along it and I had a choice. Turn left and make our way into the vaults of the old goods shed, heading back the way I’d come in, or go straight on and within minutes be at the metal gate that opened on to the towpath. If we could get through it, we’d be safe immediately. If we couldn’t, we’d be caught like rats in a pipe.
Too risky. I went left, just as Joesbury tried his radio again. No luck.
The basement of the goods shed was a hundred metres long and the only way to get safely across it in pitch blackness was by following the south wall.
It seemed to take for ever. Realistically, it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. At one point Joanna slipped and fell headlong into a pool of something that smelled vile. When we pulled her out, we had a hard job persuading her to get moving again. Then there was a grunt and a squeal.
‘I’ve got her,’ said Joesbury. ‘Firemen’s lift. Let’s go.’
I set off again, screamingly slowly, one hand on the wall, the other on Joesbury’s arm. The ground was treacherous in here. Fallen bricks, holes in the concrete, debris scattered around, every step had to be taken with care.
‘Lacey, hold it,’ said Joesbury, when I judged we were about ten metres from the next stretch of tunnel. ‘Listen.’
Silence. Then the soft plinking sound of something falling into water.
‘We have to move,’ I said.
Silence for another second. The sound of Joanna’s breath like tiny sobs. Then, ‘Go on then,’ said Joesbury. ‘Slow and quiet. I think we may have company.’
We made it to the next stretch of tunnel. It was less than thirty metres long. I think I actually started to hope. The vaults beneath the forecourt of the interchange warehouse weren’t more than the length of my garden at home. There would be light in there. And that jump into the canal was going to feel very good this time.
As we entered the warehouse vaults, the blackness all around us was weakening, becoming greyer. I could make out pillars, the reflection of water at our feet, and an orange glow at the far end, where the light from a canal-side lamp could just about seep into the building.
‘Hi.’
We stopped. Llewellyn was about five metres ahead of us, had just stepped out from behind an archway footing. The night-vision goggles had been pushed on to the top of her head. In her left hand she carried a torch that she switched on now. In her right, she still had the gun. If it was a replica, we were safe. She was no match for Joesbury. Not even for me. But if it wasn’t …
I stepped in front of him and faced her. Behind, I heard Joanna being lowered to the ground. Then Joesbury’s hands were on my shoulders.
‘Out of the way, Lacey,’ he said, trying to pull me behind him. I wasn’t moving.
‘She won’t shoot me,’ I said, without taking my eyes off Llewellyn. ‘It’s over,’ I told her. ‘You heard what he said. There are police at every exit.’ I stopped and took a deep breath. ‘I’ll stay with you,’ I went on. ‘Just let Mark and Joanna—’
I didn’t get chance to finish. At that mome
nt, poor, terrified Joanna Groves made a run for it. Without thinking, I dived after her and gave Llewellyn a clear shot. I saw her raise her arm and then there was an explosion that sounded like the roof had fallen in. I turned back in time to see Mark jump forward as if he’d been scalded. I think I must have closed my eyes because when I looked again, he was on the ground.
A split second later I was with him. He’d fallen against a pillar and had collapsed into a sitting position. Llewellyn’s torch focused on him and I could see a pool of blood spreading across the right side of his sweatshirt. His eyes were still open. There was a scuffling sound behind and then Joanna was flung on to the ground beside us.
‘Handcuff her,’ Llewellyn told me. ‘Quick. There isn’t much time.’
Mark didn’t have much time. His body was trembling and each breath sounded like it was whistling through a blocked pipe.
‘I’m sorry,’ I mouthed, before reaching into the left pocket of his jacket and taking out the cuffs. More blood poured out of the wound on his chest. I pulled my jacket off and pushed it against the blood flow, then lifted both his hands and put them against the wound too.
All the time, Llewellyn hadn’t taken her eyes off us and the gun was still raised. Pointing at Mark. Behind her, Joanna Groves was crouched, shivering and sobbing, against another pillar. I crossed to her quickly, pulled unresisting arms behind her back and slipped the handcuffs on. Then I ran back to Mark and touched the side of his face. Already it felt far too cold. I turned back to the girl with the gun.
‘Please don’t let him die,’ I begged her.
She dropped her head on to one side as she looked at us with something like interest in her eyes. Then she crouched down and fumbled around in the shadows.
‘Guess that’s up to you now,’ she said, as she stood and held out something that gleamed in the torchlight. ‘Brought a spare,’ she went on, holding the knife out towards me. It looked exactly like the one that had arrived by post at my flat the day before.
I’d been holding Mark’s hand, but I let it go now. There wasn’t going to be an easy way out of this.
‘Thought you might,’ I replied, getting to my feet. The place couldn’t possibly be surrounded by armed police, as Mark had claimed. He’d never have been allowed to come in here by himself. He’d gone AWOL, just as I had. We were on our own. Mark had taken a stupid risk because he’d wanted to believe in me and it was going to get him killed.
‘I’ve got a car parked by the canal,’ Llewellyn said to me. ‘We can still make it.’ She held the knife out towards me. Her grip on the gun hadn’t faltered.
‘Let’s go now,’ I said, knowing that the minute we left him, Mark would be able to summon help. We were barely any distance underground here, both his radio and his phone would work.
‘Job to do first,’ Llewellyn replied, glancing over towards Joanna Groves, who hadn’t looked at anything but the knife since Llewellyn had produced it. As I took the weapon, she started to cry. On the other side of me, Mark’s breathing sounded like an old pair of bellows. I looked into turquoise eyes that had gone dark with pain and knew I had a very simple choice.
If I killed Joanna and fled with Llewellyn, the police might arrive in time to get Mark the help he needed. If I refused, we’d stay down here as hostages and he would die.
‘Lacey, what are you doing?’ he whispered.
I didn’t even look at him. I’d made my choice. I just needed to get it done. I strode across, dropped to my knees, and took hold of Joanna Groves by the hair. The poor girl was too terrified even to scream.
‘Lacey, don’t you dare.’
I couldn’t help but turn then. He was slipping away, right in front of me. Flesh seemed to have fallen from his face, his body had shrunk.
‘I can’t live if you don’t.’
That’s what I tried to say. Whether any of the words came out I don’t know, I think I might have been crying too hard. Just do it. I leaned back so that I was holding Joanna’s head at arm’s length. Then I took a firmer grip on the knife and brought it down. At the second it made contact with flesh, I closed my eyes, clenched my teeth together and made the cut with every ounce of strength I had left.
Three screams rang out around the vaults. None of them had been mine. I’d neither the breath nor the energy. The pain beating a tattoo against my brain was too intense and all I could do those first few seconds was to live through it. I’d let go of Joanna’s hair. She sprang away from me, her face covered in blood. Mine. Hearing movement behind, I passed the knife into my left hand and placed the knife edge, gleaming scarlet in the cold light, against my right wrist.
‘I’ll do it,’ I said, stopping Llewellyn in her tracks. She’d been diving towards me but she stopped now. Her eyes dropped from mine to the blood that was pumping in waves from the gash on my left wrist. I’d slashed vertically down the artery, as determined suicides always do. It had been seconds since I’d made the cut but already I was starting to shiver.
‘How long do you think it takes to bleed to death?’ I asked her. ‘Ten minutes? Twenty?’
She stared at me for another second.
‘Tick tock,’ I said.
For a moment she looked angry. Then she shuddered. Finally, she smiled and it was still the sweetest face I’d ever seen. She bent down, and when she stood again, she wasn’t holding the gun but something that looked like a towel. She came towards me, crouched down and wrapped it tightly around my wrist. The pressure of it eased the pain just slightly. I still didn’t trust myself to move. I just watched her, as she reached inside Joesbury’s pocket for his radio and held it out to me. Mark’s eyes were still open, still focused on me, and there was a gleam on his left cheek that looked like a diamond. Or a tear.
Hold on, Mark, hold on.
I expected her to run. I never, for a moment, thought she’d give up. But she just sank down on to the ground next to Joesbury.
I picked up the radio.
‘I love you,’ I told her, just before I made the call for help.
93
Friday 9 November
ON FRIDAY 9 NOVEMBER, A LITTLE OVER ELEVEN DECADES after Mary Kelly was hacked to pieces in a small, rented room off Dorset Street, I followed a line of people along a brightly lit, yellow-painted corridor. We’d all travelled some distance, waited for what felt like hours. The people around me all appeared to be used to it. I wasn’t.
It was the first time I’d visited a prison.
In the five weeks since I’d been carried out of the catacombs, the young woman who’d abducted Joanna Groves had made a full confession. Starting that night at Lewisham police station, she told Dana Tulloch and Neil Anderson the full story of how she was raped at knifepoint as a teenager by a group of boys high on drugs, alcohol and arrogance. She remembered every threat, every taunt, every insult, with the screams of her sister ringing in her ears the whole time. She told them she’d genuinely believed, at one point, that she’d died, that this was hell, and that it was never going to end. There were times, she said, when she still thought that.
I heard from colleagues that DS Anderson left the interview room unusually pale and spoke to no one for several hours.
Giving information that only the killer could have known, she freely admitted murdering Geraldine Jones, Amanda Weston, Charlotte Benn and Karen Curtis. She signed the confession Victoria Llewellyn.
At the end of the prison corridor, a door led into a large, high room. The windows were way above our heads, but they had bars across them all the same. Twenty or so small tables were evenly spaced around the floor. Already, people ahead of me in the line were settling themselves down on spare chairs.
In the hours they spent talking to her, Llewellyn told Tulloch and Anderson that she’d gone abroad after her sister’s death, that she’d learned how to fight with knives and guns, and had returned several years later. She came with no papers, no passport, nothing to indicate her identity or her home country. It’s quite commonly done, I learned. If peo
ple arrive in the UK with nothing to prove where they’ve come from, we can’t send them back.
After a few tough months, she’d been granted leave to stay and apply for a work permit. She’d worked her way into the west London community around St Joseph’s as a nanny, an au pair, even a house-sitter and a dog-walker. She’d been hardworking and reliable. The families had liked her. She’d come across Samuel Cooper and, spotting a future use for him, had become his lover, feeding him drugs and sex in equal measure.
I looked over at the last line of tables. Closest to the far door sat a young woman in her own clothes. Unconvicted prisoners don’t have to wear prison uniform. The bright-blonde hair dye had begun to grow out and at her roots I could see a centimetre of the soft toffee brown I remembered. Exactly the same colour as my own. She wasn’t wearing make-up. She didn’t need to. She was still one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen.
That pretty girl had insisted, several times, that she’d had no contact with me since she’d returned to the UK and that I’d taken no part in any of the abductions or murders. She was determined that I would carry no blame for what she’d done.
She saw me and smiled, watched me make my way towards her table and sit down. I glanced round. Those people in earshot were chattering away, intent only on themselves. No one would hear us talk.
‘Hey, Tic,’ she said.
I hadn’t heard that nickname in a very long time. Certainly not coming from the girl who’d given it to me in the first place, when her plump toddler’s mouth hadn’t been able to form the four syllables of my real Christian name. My baby sister hadn’t been able to manage ‘Victoria’, so she’d called me Tic.
‘Hello, Cathy,’ I replied.
94
FOR WHAT SEEMED LIKE A LONG TIME, CATHY AND I DIDN’T speak. Then she laid a hand across mine on the tabletop.
Wrapping her fingers around my bandaged wrist, she turned it over.
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